


Best of Five

by Gileonnen



Series: The Blade of the Vanguard [4]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: At Long Last--Kisses, M/M, Semi-Public Nudity, Size Difference (Tactical Implications), Sparring as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gileonnen/pseuds/Gileonnen
Summary: Kalith invites Zavala to spar. It goes both better and worse than expected.
Relationships: Male Guardian/Zavala (Destiny)
Series: The Blade of the Vanguard [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671325
Comments: 16
Kudos: 57





	Best of Five

_What's the harm in asking Zavala to spar?_ Kalith had thought. _It's a no-Light match; how bad could it be?_ He'd imagined himself swift and lightfooted, nimbly dodging and weaving to avoid the patient, relentless force of Zavala's attacks.

It takes Kalith less than three seconds to realize that he's made a grave mistake.

Zavala comes at him in a flurry of precise jabs and crosses, his fists blindingly fast--and every block, every desperate hook, forces Kalith further out of position. He has to give ground or start taking hits, and he can already tell that Zavala doesn't plan to pull punches. Kalith dances back across the mats, and Zavala closes the distance like a meteor. The arc of the sparring circle looms all around him as the painted edge approaches.

Kalith isn't evading Zavala, he realizes. Zavala is driving him back.

At the edge of the circle, Kalith throws himself into a rolling dive--his shoulder slams hard against the mats, but he takes the pain and braces his hands under him in time to meet Zavala's charge. A sweep of his leg sends Zavala flying, and he hits the ground with a sound like all the air going out of him. Even that barely slows him. He twists back to his feet, already in a defensive stance.

His broad chest heaves under his thin workout shirt; a bead of sweat rolls down his neck and into the valley between his pectorals. He meets Kalith's eyes over his raised fists and smiles, all teeth and sharp satisfaction.

Kalith grins back and springs to his feet. This time, he takes the offensive--Zavala has height and reach and weight on him, so Kalith abandons boxing entirely. He leaves his hands up to defend and strikes low, with a flurry of whirling kicks that catch Zavala at the knees. The blows send echoes of pain up his unprotected shins, but when a strike knocks Zavala's feet out from under him, the look of surprise on Zavala's face is worth the ache. Kalith swarms over him, knees pinning hips, hands catching hands; Zavala hooks his knee over Kalith's ankle and _heaves_ \--

And abruptly, Kalith is on his back with Zavala an immovable weight on his chest. Strong hands pin his wrists, gripping until his bones flex beneath them. It's everything Kalith longs for--their bodies hot and flush, close enough that he can feel every shuddering swell of Zavala's ribs when he breathes. His pulse thunders against Zavala's palms; his hands fall lax and limp under the unyielding pressure.

The back of his hand touches the mat, and Zavala chuckles. "You're out."

Kalith glances up and back, and he sees his fingertips just barely grazing the outside of the painted line. He narrows his eyes. "Oh, fuck you. You won on a technicality."

"Good match," says Zavala as he rolls aside and climbs to his feet. "Again?"

"Of course I want to go again," says Kalith. "I can't let you walk away from this thinking you've won."

By the time they hit the showers, though, Zavala's beaten him four times of five, and every single part of Kalith's body aches. It's not quite as good as the high of a long run, or of being thrashed by someone who really wants to hurt him, but there's an elation to it all the same that leaves him glassy-eyed and smiling as he unwraps his hands. "You're incredibly fast, for a Titan," he says.

"And you throw one hell of a punch, for a Warlock. But you don't need me to tell you that." Zavala bends to unlace his shoes and set them in a locker, then pulls his shirt over his head and folds it up on the bench.

As Kalith skins off his shorts and closes the locker behind them, he finds himself wishing that Zavala would look at him. He wants to feel that bright gaze on him, studying the fresh bruises where his bones are close to the skin--assessing the musculature of his shoulders, his thighs, his powerful calves, and finding him an acceptable instrument.

But that isn't the kind of relationship they have, and so Kalith goes to the showers and turns the water on. He combs out his hair with his hands, working out the tiny knots that the hair tie left at the back of his neck. Water sluices away the sweat from his chest, the dried blood from the corner of his mouth.

A moment later, Zavala steps up beside him and tilts his face up to the first cold spray of water. His eyes fall closed. He folds his hands at the back of his neck and stretches, back arching, taut muscles sliding over his ribs. Marbled light and dark flicker over his pale blue skin.

Kalith's breath catches. He can't help staring, tracing each rivulet of water with his eyes as it cascades down over Zavala's chest, from the tendons of his neck to the intricate blackwork tattoos on his chest to the lean curve of his stomach. He can't help lowering his gaze to the long, smooth column of Zavala's cock. Imagining how perfectly it would fit in his mouth.

He tears his gaze away and inhales deeply through his nose.

"You know," says Zavala, low, "It's all right if you look."

Even through the warmth of the water, Kalith feels his cheeks heat. "I didn't want to overstep."

Zavala's hand lights on his shoulder--an offer, and not a demand. "I appreciate your concern. But I think you overestimate the delicacy of my sensibilities."

"It isn't that," Kalith insists. "Or not just that. I know that you have obligations. A certain way that you'd like to be seen. And the Vanguard Commander can't be a--a sex object. Not the way I can."

"Leave managing my reputation to me," says Zavala, and although his voice is gentle, it brooks no argument. "I'm more interested in what you want."

Kalith glances down at the tiled floor between their feet, then raises his gaze until he can meet Zavala's eyes. They're alone in the showers, so close that Kalith can almost feel Zavala's body against his like an electric charge in the air. It feels as though whatever tension is between them must take a shape soon or destroy them both. _You never got anywhere by being wise._

He lets his hand fall to the knob of Zavala's hip and asks, "Will you kiss me?"

He closes his eyes. Slowly, Zavala's palm curves to fit his cheek. Kalith tilts his face up into it, heart aching, racing; breath gusts over his mouth, and then the gentlest brush of Zavala's lips. At that moment of contact, all of the suppressed urgency of the last few months wells up in Kalith like a resistless tide. He swells into the kiss, opens to it with a deep and bottomless hunger--his teeth graze Zavala's lips, and Zavala only grips him tighter and drinks him down.

The sound of a locker door slamming makes Kalith's whole body go cold. He leaps back, quickly turning off his water as though _that's_ the thing that he's afraid strangers will see.

When he looks at Zavala again, he finds him unruffled, still half-hard and flushed from his ears to his throat. Zavala only raises his brows, smiles thinly, and traces his thumb over the ragged curve of his bottom lip.

A part of Kalith wants to step back under that hot spray, press Zavala against the wall and kiss him and suck him until he comes apart under Kalith's mouth. Or to be held down beneath him, restrained completely by his gentle and merciless hands.

Instead, he kisses Zavala's cheek and steps away to dry himself off. "I can't believe I ever thought you were untouchable," he calls over his shoulder.

"Not untouchable," says Zavala coolly. "Just selective."

Kalith pauses, hand raised to turn on the air jets. His heart aches like a seed breaking open; it aches like a new bruise healing.

All he has ever wanted was to be chosen.


End file.
